Join Me - Voldemort and Harry
by Batsutousai
Summary: Voldemort's great plan to take the Ministry worked far too well, and Harry and his friends are struggling to survive in a world ruled by the Dark Lord in disguise.


**Title:** _Join Me ~ Voldemort & Harry_  
**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Author:** Batsutousai  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings:** AU  
**Summary:** Voldemort's great plan to take the Ministry worked far too well, and Harry and his friends are struggling to survive in a world ruled by the Dark Lord in disguise.  
**Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**A/N:** From a list of prompts on tumblr as a response to a prompt given to me by an anonymous commenter. The prompt was **Voldemort&Harry "join me"**

Honestly, put my fingers to the keyboard and let them go. Didn't really have any clear ideas, but the boys seem to know what they wanted.

-0-

It was such a regular occurrence, Harry wasn't sure why he was even surprised any more when the older man sat down on the bench next to him.

"No," he said, pre-empting the familiar question and discussion. Like that would actually stop the elder wizard.

Thin lips curled with a smile that would have terrified anyone else. But not Harry. "You're denying me the right to sit on a public bench?" he said, almost friendly. "My, won't the wizarding public be shocked to hear their boy saviour–"

"Oh, _please_." Harry sighed and sat down his lunch in his lap before turning to the former Dark Lord, taking in the now-familiar red-brown eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. "You say that like they'd honestly care that I'm refusing _you_."

Riddle's lips curled up with an even more terrifying smile. "No? And, yet, it was _I_ they voted in as Mini–"

"They have no idea who you are, and you know it," Harry shot back, rolling his eyes and turning away. Two years ago, after the last of those who would have recognised Tom Riddle as Voldemort were dead or in a coma – including Harry and his friends – Tom Riddle had popped out of the woodwork with a promise for the people: He would get rid of Voldemort, and they would vote him in as Minister for Magic. Immediate consensus was had and in a battle that would go down in the history books – contradicting witness reports aside – Voldemort was vanquished and Riddle was sworn in two days later.

Three days after he'd taken office, those who'd been in a coma woke up to a new world they would have fought to avoid if they'd been able to. Insisting that Minister Riddle was really Voldemort had landed more than a dozen former Order of the Phoenix members in the Ministry holding cells, so they'd eventually learned to hold their tongues and keep eyes sharp for the moment to attack.

But that moment never came, seemed less and less likely as Riddle's popularity had grown.

Then, maybe two months ago, Riddle had started appearing during Harry's lunch break and joining him without asking. And Harry could hardly refuse the _Minister_, not when he signed his Auror cheques.

Riddle was relaxing back against the bench, now, reading Harry's eternal turmoil over their situation, then said, "Why _do_ you keep fighting, Harry?"

Harry shot him a glare from the corner of his eye. "You _know_ why."

Riddle spread his hands in a show of innocence. "I haven't tried to kill you in almost a year. Surely you–"

"_Snake_," Harry spat. "Just because you shed your skin doesn't mean–"

"You _wound_ me."

"I'd certainly like to," Harry returned, not missing a beat in this familiar play of words. It was freeing, this easy trade of insults. And perhaps that was the real reason Harry still chafed against the former Dark Lord, why he had yet to give in to his rather generous offer.

"But wouldn't such ambitions be better served at a closer distance?" Riddle asked, the next step in their dance. He leaned forward, voice dropping with conspiracy. "You could be certain to win the honour of my death yourself."

Harry narrowed his eyes and stood, nearly knocking his forgotten sandwich to the ground. "I'm not like you, Tom. I don't look for glory in murder."

"I'm aware," Riddle murmured, so quiet Harry nearly missed it.

"Enjoy your lunch break, Minister," Harry said stiffly and started away, sandwich clasped almost to crumbs in one hand, lunch bag crinkling in the other.

"I've heard," Riddle called after him, "about your difficulties, Harry."

And Harry froze. The medical bills from his coma had started coming in, on top of the costs for his Auror training, and the Potter vaults were near dry after using them to support the war effort. He was struggling to keep his flat, especially when he was siding some of his limited income to Ron and Hermione, who were also clawing at a sheer cliff. The only reason he was doing better than his two friends was his status as the Boy-Who-Lived, but the walls were still closing in.

Riddle stood from the bench and strode over to the frozen Auror, expression closed and grim. "Your choices are slim, you are aware. You must either take my offer as bodyguard, or you and your friends will be forced to live on the streets."

Harry swallowed. He knew. He'd known from the moment Riddle had first made the offer, had known things would be getting bad once he realised his family vault was empty the last year of his Auror training, but he'd pretended he would be fine. He'd hoped and prayed and managed his money so he could make it on his starting salary, budgeting room for the medical bills that St Mungo's was starting to collect from those coma patients who hadn't had jobs before they went under.

And then Ron and Hermione had almost been kicked out of their too-small flat. Harry had kicked over some money and they were all miserable, but at least they had roofs over their heads, as precarious as those roofs were.

Taking the bodyguard position Riddle was offering meant not only a pay raise, but free residence in the Minister's mansion. It meant he could forward all the money he would be sinking into a flat to Ron and Hermione.

Riddle leaned forward, until he was nearly eye-to-eye with Harry. There was a certainty in those red-brown orbs that made Harry want to stab them them with the wand tucked securely against his forearm, and he clenched his jaw against the urge. "Say it," Riddle whispered.

Harry closed his eyes. "Minister Riddle," he managed past the block in his throat from his pride, "I would be happy to accept the position as your personal bodyguard, if the position is still open."

Riddle smirked, cold and promising a violence that excited Harry far more than professionally acceptable. "It was never for anyone other than you," he replied as he straightened and turned to lead the way back to the Ministry entrance. "Come, then. You can discuss the transfer of your personal effects with my secretary."

"Yes, sir," Harry agreed, tossing his mangled sandwich in a bin.

Riddle looked back at him, eyes blood-red from the sun's angle. "From you, Harry, I'll accept only '_my Lord_'."

Harry flashed him a smile that felt cold and unnatural on his face, replying, "I'll keep that in mind, _Tom_."

Riddle laughed.

..


End file.
